


Ancient Enmity

by EvilDime



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Humor, M/M, Sexual Humor, Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-02
Updated: 2015-04-02
Packaged: 2018-03-20 23:11:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3668694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvilDime/pseuds/EvilDime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even Dumbledore can't have been old and wrinkled since the day he was born, right? Given a chance to be young again for one day, what will he do on his day off?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ancient Enmity

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter and make no money with this story.  
> Beta: Shivani (aka Grazhir). Thanks!!!
> 
> Originally written for PoetOfBabylon who with her constant reassurances that she REALLY didn't want to know sparked some ideas...  
> This was one of the first fics I've ever written, and while I think my style has changed a bit since, I still like it. Hope you will, too. ^^

Albus Dumbledore stared with skilfully concealed curiosity at his Potions Master and deputy headmistress as they entered the room. He smelled a conspiracy and his eyes began to twinkle madly. "What brings you here this fine evening, Minerva? Severus?"

The witch and wizard took seats across from him at the big, ancient desk that decorated the headmaster's office and smiled at him innocently. "Headmaster," Severus Snape began, "we are here as representatives of your entire staff. You see, we are greatly worried about your health. Not only do you seem to live entirely on tea and lemon drops since You-Know-Who came back—"

"—and showed strong tendencies towards such a development even before that," McGonagall cut in.

Snape frowned, but let the rude interruption go in order to address more urgent matters. "As I was saying. You also have this constant twinkle in your eyes that seems to point at massive nervous issues that need _release_ in _Merlin-knows-what_ way, and soon!"

Albus was speechless. His eyes twinkled rapidly as he tried to remember when he had stopped blinking for fun—and started doing it just to disturb everyone else—when it had become a habit. He'd never thought _that_ would be the reason for his staff to worry one day. Going four weeks without sleep, yes; studying the dark arts to understand his enemy, yes; nearly killing himself numerous times for the greater good, yes; but no one had ever complained about any of that. It just seemed to be widely accepted that he _simply was that way_.

Sometimes it even bothered him and he wondered how young Harry put up with all the pressure everyone's expectations put upon him. Come to think of it, he _had_ heard rumours about some rather excessive use of certain empty classrooms around Gryffindor tower lately. . . . The twinkle in his eyes increased speed until he could hardly see. Now that was one enlightening thought!

Minerva and Severus exchanged worried glances. The old man truly looked like he was close to a nervous breakdown. Snape decided to speed matters up and reached into his robe, pulling out a small vial of some light green liquid.

"Headmaster, I made this potion a number of years back when I thought myself in need of distraction. However, events got in the way and I completely forgot about it—until yesterday morning, that is. That horrid brat Longbottom exploded yet a _nother_ cauldron in my face and damaged my desk; that way, I came across the hidden compartment I had placed this potion in back then. It is still good, and although it is an experiment I have never tested myself, I've heard from reliable sources that the so-called Cinderella effect—now don't ask me where the name comes from, I haven't the slightest!—shall linger exactly till midnight the following day, so you might as well take the day off tomorrow and thoroughly enjoy yourself!"

A pointed glare at the parchment-covered desk accompanied the words, and also a very un-Snapeish grin that, in any other person but Snape, one might be tempted to call suggestive.

"I will of course take care of any impotent—sorry, my bad— important issues that might arise—I mean, come up—uh . . . while you're out of the closet—uh—closed office, well and . . . and—you know what I mean," McGonagall ended lamely, flushing a bright Gryffindor red.

Snape aimed a wolfish grin at his colleague, obviously enjoying her distress. "What Minerva so skilfully alluded to was that you will not need to worry about your usual tasks tomorrow. You are to enjoy the changes—but remember, they are only for one day!—and go about curing your . . . nervous itches. Are we agreed, headmaster?"

Dumbledore looked at the two, not quite seeing where all this was headed, but pleased with the prospect of his first day off in more than twenty years. "What does this potion entail and which events kept you from using it yourself?" he inquired of his number one spy.

"The potion gives you back, uh, let us say, some of your former spirits; it has been fifteen years since I decided I didn't need it after all, sixteen years since I'd brewed it."

He would rather die than admit directly to having been in need of distraction when his teenage crush Lily gave birth to _Potter_ 's son, nor would he ever openly admit to being grateful to that little demon spawn for banishing the Dark Lord and buying him thirteen years of relative peace and leisure. He'd used them well, he decided as he mentally went through the list of his conquests—the first four years especially had been great, before that dumb bitch from the 'Magic Hair' beauty salon took her personal revenge for being ignored and got a permanent greasing charm on his formerly soft and shiny black hair (that both men and women had admired in his day).

Drifting off in thought, he never noticed the amused glance the two other teachers shared at his soft and dreamy expression. Dumbledore shook him out of his reverie as he took the potion, thanked his two teachers and retired to his sleeping chamber.

* * *

When Albus woke up the next morning, he instantly knew something was amiss. There was a weird tension in his lower body that he couldn't remember feeling before. He sat up, puzzled; then the events of the previous night came back to his mind and he relaxed.

_Must be some side effect of the potion_ , he thought.

Curious to find out about the more positive sides to this whole story, he quickly got out of bed and reached for his spectacles. He put them on, frowned, looked around, squinted his eyes, took the things off again, looked around . . . and then quickly discarded the silly things for good. He could see again as well as eighty years ago!

Overjoyed, he skipped to his bathroom. In the door, he caught his step in utter amazement—since when did he _skip_ , Merlin have mercy! How could it be that his old back and knees had not complained? Opening the door fully, he came face to face with his bathroom mirror—and froze in shock.

The handsome, even complexion of an eighteen year old reflected back at him, along with thick auburn hair tousled from sleep, a pouty lower lip slightly opened in wonder, and deep blue eyes shining with youthful energy. He slowly raised a hand to touch the soft skin of his cheeks, then proceeded to consider the graceful fingers that felt so good against his skin.

Had he truly looked this stunning in his youth?

Slowly, ever so slowly, it all came back to him. The secret snogging sessions in the room of Requirement with Adela, the many catcalls and compliments he got whenever he mounted his broom; and finally his battle with Grindlewald that he had only won because the other wizard had been so preoccupied with his fluid, dancing motions to even think of putting up a shield. . . . Yes, Dumbledore smiled, he had been _quite_ something in his youth.

He rolled his shoulders, stretched his arms—and was again painfully reminded that _something_ had changed in the lower spheres of his young and completely shaggable body. Something was . . . twitching? He reached down a hand to trace the disturbance back to its source—and drew it back with a hiss. He heard Fawkes cooing softly from the other room, asking if he was all right. Albus turned a peculiar shade of pink and stared at his reflection in embarrassment.

He had a hard-on.

Now for how many of his century-and-then-some years of life had he _not_ had a. . . ? For the love of the Founders, how could he have forgotten this!?

It was quite a while later that the respectable and dignified headmaster of Hogwarts, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, emerged from his bathroom, looking for all the world like a guilt-ridden, yet highly energetic teenager.

"Fawkes, I will be gone all day, make sure you let Minerva in so she can take care of things," he told the phoenix, not looking his familiar in the eye as he silently admired the deep and manly sound of his own voice.

* * *

Voldemort was bored. He sauntered down Diagon Alley aimlessly, enjoying the lack of grovelling and panicking wizards that came with his new concealment potion. For all the world, he looked just like a handsome, yet very average in power, young adult wizard who might just have finished Hogwarts a couple of years ago.

He enjoyed being normal every once in a while. While he was truly fond of his life's work and proud of everything he had achieved, he still hadn't managed to kill his human side completely, and thus every so often, he felt the need to mingle with other human beings, stilling the demands of his body and maybe, if then he truly still possessed such a thing, bathing his soul in the short-lived sensation of being cherished and loved by another living creature.

The other good point about his occasional disappearance for a day or two was that it really freaked out Lucius and Wormtail. God, how he hated the little traitor! And he just loved to tease Lucius. Grinning openly and happily, a feat he rarely allowed himself in front of his Death Eaters, he entered the 'Charming Corner,' a little café in one of the less frequented side streets of the alley in which couples and singles-on-the-hunt liked to spend some quality time together.

Strolling leisurely into the homely establishment, he quickly checked out the customers with a trained eye. No women were present that caught his attention that day, he decided. Slowly advancing toward a quiet table in one of the corners, he suddenly noticed a youth with auburn hair sitting at the bar, looking at him with a sort of hunger in his eyes that came close to _starving_.

Voldemort allowed himself an amused chuckle and changed his course to flop down beside the quite well-built young specimen. _Would you look at that? I might get lucky today after all._

"Hello, handsome," he greeted the blue-eyed wizard. "All alone on such a marvellous day?"

It was only ten in the morning, and he hadn't seriously expected to meet anyone that fast. But the slight blush that marked the other boy's cheeks at his words made his hopes soar high, singing victory.

"My name's Marvin," he introduced himself as the other only stared at him dumbly.

The auburn-haired wizard snapped out of his stupor and took the offered hand. "Oh, hi, my name's—ah—well, call me Wolf," he said, amusement suddenly dancing in his sparkling blue eyes. _He really does have pretty eyes,_ Voldemort thought, leaning in a bit closer to inspect them.

* * *

 

It did not take long for the two young wizards to find a more private place where they could . . . talk . . . without any waitresses or nosy spectators interrupting them. Voldemort licked his lips as he let his eyes wander over his latest conquest, splayed out on the rented bed in an appealing state of undress.

"If you go on just staring at me, I shall find more entertaining company," the delicious young man threatened.

Voldemort quickly got rid of the remainder of his robes, manhood bobbing freely, and pounced onto the other, eliciting a surprised gasp. "Oh no you won't. I have no intention of letting you go any time soon, Cub!"

Barely had he finished speaking as the other wrapped his arms around him and furiously started kissing his eyes, lips, neck and nose.

"Eager, are we?" Voldemort smiled into the boy's hair that tickled at his cheeks while the wizard slowly sucked on his Adam’s apple. "How long has it been since you last got any?"

The sucking stopped and incredible blue eyes looked at him, unblinking. "I don't remember. It feels like ages."

The Dark Lord's smile only got wider and he seriously started to get involved in the pleasant game the other had begun.

* * *

Albus looked at the beautiful, completely edible boy he had found at the café with dilated pupils. By the light of the Forefathers, he was gorgeous!

Said gorgeous boy—he had a slight tingle of remorse at the thought that he was old enough to be the boy's great-grandfather—was presently busying himself drawing circles on Albus's abdomen with his tongue. "Oh, Marvin, stop teasing me!" Albus groaned, much to his own shock and his partner's amusement.

"Your wish is my command," the beautiful raven-haired youth answered and conjured a number of items with a flick of his wrists.

_Wandless magic!_ Albus was impressed. He would have to talk to the boy about joining the Order once he was back to his older self—something he would rather not think about right now. He already felt himself sagging in despair. . . .

"Hey, are you _that_ impatient?" the black-haired wonder sitting between his legs inquired with a pointed stare. Not waiting for an answer, he touched the other man with nimble fingers. "We'll have to see that you don't have a minute to go drifting off again, won't we?"

Albus's only answer was a loud gasp as he felt the youth invade spaces where he'd not been touched for nearly a lifetime. Stars exploded behind his eyes as all unpleasant thoughts fled from his mind.

* * *

"I think I love you," Albus told the panting young man that lay on his breast, catching his breath after having spent all he had for the third time this day. Albus lovingly caressed the face of his young bed companion and drew him into a deep and passionate kiss. When they broke apart, he reached down to stroke Marvin teasingly. "Now, why don't you sit back up and do some more of what you're so good at?" he purred.

When they became one once again, Marvin sweating heavily and not sure how long he could go on at this rate, Albus closed his eyes in pleasure and let himself drift with the feelings.

* * *

It was near to sunset when the boy with the auburn hair finished his strawberry ice cream, looking at Voldemort with adorable puppy eyes. "I haven't felt this hungry in years!" he told his lover happily.

Voldemort donned a pleased smile, trying desperately not to let his fatigue show. He was the bloody Dark Lord, dammit, it simply would not do to buckle down over the demands of a green youngster! He prided himself of always performing up to standard, be it in his ways to keep his minions in line, in brewing his own potions, or in satisfying his partner in his far in-between one night stands.

He had thoroughly enjoyed the day they had spent in that little room together. He couldn't deny that. But he also felt relieved that it was over. Had Wolf—a very befitting name for a being with such a feral . . . appetite, come to think of it—not become hungry for _food_ a while back, Voldemort would have seriously considered killing him to finally get a break.

He was glad he didn't have to, though, since the boy _had_ done wonders to relieve some stress there. . . .

Wolf pushed away his empty ice cream bowl and waved the waitress over. After fighting a little over who got to invite the other, they left the little restaurant and stepped out on the street.

"Well, that was nice," Voldemort said as he stretched and headed towards the apparation point.

"Yes," Wolf answered him, eyes shining once more with happiness and . . . anticipation, he noticed in shock. "But I know something even nicer that the two of us could do now. . . . "

The auburn-haired wizard never noticed the panicked look that entered his lover's eyes as he excitedly dragged him back towards their hotel room.

* * *

Albus cast a mournful look at the clock on their night stand. It was nearly midnight. He would return to being his old wrinkly, unappealing self in only ten minutes. Dressing quietly, he looked at the sleeping form of Marvin on the bed with hungry eyes. The other had fallen asleep in the middle of a perfectly fine make-out session, and Albus seriously wondered whether he'd done anything wrong. Was he boring? A very disturbing thought.

He ran a quick magical check-up to make sure the other boy was alright before leaving him. With a low whistle of surprise, he realized that Marvin's magical energy was down to zero and his blood system was running low. It reminded him of the readings he got from Harry sometimes after those particularly dangerous and strenuous stunts the boy kept pulling.

_Like a man close to death from exhaustion_ , he realized, bewildered. How could the boy have engaged in sexual activity being in a bad physical state like that? He was endangering his health!

Albus worriedly knelt down next to his beautiful young lover, not noticing as the clock turned to midnight.

* * *

Voldemort blinked his eyes slowly. _What's going on? Where am I? . . .By Morgaine's hairband, I feel like a herd of thestrals has run me over! . . .Did I get into an attack?_ Slowly, memory of the previous day crept back into his mind. _Oh, fuck, I did it this time, didn't I?_ He had managed to exhaust himself to the point where his magic had to jump in to keep him from collapsing. It seemed that he had completely burned himself out. _It will take me days to recover from that one! I'll be vulnerable like a_ _M_ _uggle, darn! . . .Where does that boy get all that energy from!?_

Sitting up carefully, he noticed a hunched over form at his bedside. There sat his lover, the strange light blue robes he had been wearing earlier once again concealing his delicious body. The room was dark and he couldn't see the boy's face at all, but it seemed that the other was looking at him with some concern.

"Are you okay, Marvin?" he heard Wolf whisper.

Still trying to sort through the fog in his head and trying to remember why it seemed like a bad idea to stay there right then, he just nodded silently.

"How did you get yourself so exhausted?" Wolf asked quietly.

Voldemort snorted in disbelief. "Why, by meeting your wishes, of course!" he spat out. "By the way, what's with your voice? Screamed yourself hoarse earlier?" he added, hoping to let the other experience some embarrassment so he wouldn't be the only one with a flushed face when he found that cursed light switch.

* * *

Albus was indeed flushed quite an angry red, for he had finally remembered that the potion would stop working at midnight. It was now half past one and he was certainly feeling the sagging skin and fragile bones of his old body, aching back and bad sight returning with a vengeance.

"Ummh . . . since you are fine now . . . and I really don't want you to exhaust yourself any further talking to me . . . I think I shall leave now, all right?"

But he had only just got up when Marvin finally found the light switch.

Caught half way to the door, he knew the other could not, would not miss the flowing silver hair and wilted hands no matter his own fragile state; he sighed and turned around, resigned to his fate and silently vowing to himself to obliviate the other in order to protect him from the unpleasant surprise.

But when he looked at Marvin, the boy had greatly changed himself. Instead of silky black hair, there was only bare, uneven skin; the delicate little nose was replaced by two serpentine slits; red eyes stared at him, widening in shock as he fully took in the shape of his former young lover.

"Marvin? . . .Marvolo! You're Riddle!!" Albus shouted, aghast.

The other just looked at him dumbly, before asking,"Where is Wolf? What have you done to him?"

Albus stared at him hard. Did his enemy actually not understand? "My full name, Tom, is _Albus Percival_ Wolf _ric Brian Dumbledore._ Surely you knew that?"

Voldemort blinked slowly, his brain still suffering from the recent near shut-down of his system, and looked at Dumbledore with wide eyes, his lipless mouth opening and closing silently.

Albus could see the exact moment realization hit the Dark Lord. His drowsy eyes became clear, the pupils narrowing in shock. He bolted upright in the bed, shouting, "Circe help me, I screwed Dumbledore!"

Then his eyes rolled back into his head and he limply fell into the cushions.

Albus carefully approached the bed, trusting his enemy to pull a show like that to catch him by surprise, but also believing in his earlier reading of the other wizard's weak physical condition.

When he reached the Dark Lord he waved his wand again in the familiar pattern learned long ago from Mrs. Reveux Pomfrey, the mother of his school's current nurse. He frowned. With a sharp _Accio_ , he summoned his spectacles. While waiting for them to make the journey from Hogwarts at break-neck speed, he laid his hand to the dark wizard's throat and held it there for a long time.

Catching his glasses out of the air, he looked at the medical information again and finally couldn't deny the truth any longer. He. . . . A feral smile curled his lips. He truly had been one hell of a lover in his younger days.

Voldemort was dead.

_\- The End. -_


End file.
